Young Drew had often sat by the shore and dreamt of sailing cross the Deep Blue Sea. His father had, as did his father before him. His little heart yearned for it, and his head was filled with the tallest tales of adventure.
“There be mysterious creatures of every kind,” said his Granddad, whom he lovingly called “Pop.” And with a cold shiver, his Dad would describe… “The darkest of storms! Fierce and m… mighty! The likes of which… few Shrew have ever seen!”
Well, a youngster’s imagination can sometimes swell with all this. But the reality of a life across the waters, just may be a bite more than a little Shrew can truly chew.
Every day after school, the hunting of bugs and skipping of stones by the sea, was the usual business for Willie and Drew. They explored and played, and did all the fun things on the way home, that little Shrew do. But, a close eye on the time had best be kept, as nothing worried more, a Dad or Mum, than their offspring not straight home after school.
“Hey now Will, try and top this,” said Drew as he held back his arm and took aim at the surface of the water. In his hand, he held the perfect stone for skipping. Nice and flat, and just the right weight for a good long throw. Willie looked up, as he sat on a stump and whittled away at a most handsome piece of driftwood. “Good luck mate. My seven skips… a bit hard to beat,” he said.
Drew let go with a low, hard throw that left him hopping on one foot as he called out…
“2-3-4-5-6!” And then, on the last skip, it bounced up high and dropped into the water with a splash. “Six again!” he said.
“It’s all in the wrist my friend,” said Willie, as he held up his swirling hand. While losing all track of the time, Drew began to wander the shoreline in search of another righteous stone to throw.
Just then, Willie jumped from the stump and cried “Oh buggers! Drew! Look at the sun! We’re here too long again!” And with that, they grabbed up their schoolbooks and dashed off toward home, and the fate that awaits a youngster twice warned in that same week, to come straight home.
Now Drew’s Dad was a worrisome fellow. He spoke with a stammer that would miraculously stop whenever he would sing. But, when he was upset, it could be quite hard for him to spout even the shortest of thoughts. And, with a hard time remembering names, he had numbered his children “one thru six,” and Drew was #4.
As Drew came dashing through the door, the boys were all lined up and counted, and their Dad had already asked… “W… where’s ”
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